


what i do isn't up to you, if the city never sleeps then that makes two

by MotherKarizma



Series: here comes the sun [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers Family, Drug Cravings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Past Drug Addiction, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, completed series, reading the previous works is necessary for context, shit is about to hit the fan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherKarizma/pseuds/MotherKarizma
Summary: Something dark and treacherous followed him through the streets as he swung. It was nameless, faceless, voiceless, but Peter knew it was there. He could feel it creeping up his back, threatening to dig its claws into his heart-thumping chest.He had to get away. He had to get away. He had to get away.I’m dreaming,his mind supplied, but it was no comfort, because hecouldn’t fucking wake up.“Mister Stark!” Peter called out into the cold night, praying the sound would somehow make it through to the real world. “Help! Mister Stark, please, I need help!”No footsteps came running. The city remained unusually dark and empty, the peaceful silence of the night entirely undisturbed.When the invisible monster finally caught up to him, dropped him onto the cold concrete, and began to tear him to shreds, it looked just like a full syringe.-----Peter has nightmares. He decides he'd rather deal with it on his own than worry Tony and the rest of the team. This turns out to be Not The Best Idea™.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: here comes the sun [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633516
Comments: 42
Kudos: 778
Collections: The Best Irondad/Spiderson Fics, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics, ellie marvel fics - read





	what i do isn't up to you, if the city never sleeps then that makes two

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE TO NEW READERS: this is the eighth work in a 12-part series! i highly recommend reading the previous works first, then returning to this one, as this work makes little to no sense as a stand-alone.
> 
> y'all,,,there are only four more works left in the series after this???? like that happened so fast? i hope ur ready for shit to hit the fan because i'm def not.
> 
> [ed sheeran - the city](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZrCcSpTeXF8)  
> \\\i'm burning on the back street  
> stuck here sitting in the back seat  
> i'm blazing on the street  
> what i do isn't up to you  
> if the city never sleeps then that makes two//

Peter jolted upright in the bed, a strangled scream caught in his throat, eyes darting wildly around the room.

His suite. The Tower. A darkened but safe environment; no eerie shadows dancing across the walls like they had been in his dream, no strangers waiting around the corner to harm him. Still, panic rose in his throat, blurring the edges of his vision.

He sat up against the headboard, his entire body trembling, and placed his head between his knees just as he’d been taught. Each inhale made his lungs ache, but he forced himself to take in one slow drag of oxygen after another.

Peter was on his fifth round of methodical breathing – inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight – when he heard footsteps hurrying down the hall. The door opened. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter against the sudden light flooding his room.

“Pete,” Tony breathed. “Hey, bud. Fri said you had another nightmare. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Peter mumbled, which was only partially true. “’S not that bad this time. I’m fine.”

Though his head still felt far too light and dizzy, the room spinning in circles around him, he lifted it to meet Tony’s eyes as the man perched on the edge of his bed and placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked sad. Peter knew why. He’d never wanted his mentee to have to learn the techniques he used to talk himself down from his own panic attacks, let alone have enough practice to get good at it.

“That’s the third one this week,” Tony said softly, thumb rubbing Peter’s collarbone. “I know you wanted to keep the whole nightmare thing between us, kid, and I get it – believe me, I do – but I think it’s time to let Bruce know what’s going on. Maybe he and Patel could help.”

“It’ll go away.” Peter laid back against the wooden headboard and closed his eyes. “It’s just…the whole agoraphobia thing, or whatever they call it. It’s getting better. I’ll be fine.”

“They might get better, might even go away for a while, but they’re not gonna leave forever. It’s gonna come and go. Trauma doesn’t just…go away.”

Peter knew he was speaking from experience, but a part of him held fast to the idea that his anxiety and nightmares were, somehow, not the same as Tony’s PTSD. _That_ might not go away, but _this_ would, with time and patience. He was sure of it.

It had to. He couldn’t live like this forever.

“This will,” Peter said certainly. “Just – give me a few weeks. It’ll stop.”

“You’re not exempt from the laws of mental health, PJs. I wish like hell you were, but you’re not.”

“I don’t want to talk to Doctor Patel.” This last ditch attempt was, at least, something he knew Tony would get. The last time he’d entrusted himself to a healthcare professional, she’d sold out his secret identity to buy herself some time in the spotlight. It was understandable that he’d be wary of even the most trustworthy physicians. “Can’t we just, like, wait and see?”

“We _can_ ,” Tony said patiently. “But I’m not in favor of it. I don’t want this to get worse before it gets better. Might as well take care of it now.”

“But it’s already getting better.”

“Marginally.” Tony sighed. “Do you want me to talk to Bruce for you? He doesn’t even have to tell Patel who it’s for, but they might be able to manufacture an extra-strength sleep aid or something that would work with your metabolism.”

“That’s…awfully specific.” Peter looked at him, and his eyes narrowed. “You’ve already been talking to him about it, haven’t you?”

“…no?”

“Mister Stark,” Peter groaned, even as he let his head fall to rest on Tony’s shoulder. “That’s so _embarrassing_. I’m not five. I can handle it.”

“Clearly, you can’t.”

“I didn’t even have a panic attack this time!”

“ _This_ time. But you did the other night, and you might tomorrow. You really want to keep waking up in the middle of the night like this? You want to walk around here every day looking like a zombie?”

Peter said stubbornly, “Yes.” He didn’t, of course, but annoyance momentarily won out over logic.

“Oh, I see. And I guess you don’t want to try out your new Spider-Man suit, either? Because you’re sure as hell not gonna go swinging around the city while you’re sleep-deprived. Guess I’ll just have to put it away for a few months, maybe even a couple _years,_ until you’ve got a handle on this–“

Peter lifted his head from Tony’s shoulder, eyes wide. “You were gonna let me use the suit?”

“No, I made it for myself,” Tony said dryly. “ _Yeah,_ dumbass, I was gonna let you use it. I was just waiting until Bruce said you’d gained enough weight back. But if you’re not gonna take care of _these,_ then you can forget about it.”

Tony tapped a gentle finger against Peter’s under-eyes, where dark circles of exhaustion had grown over the past several days. And, yeah, Peter was kind of pissed that Mister Stark had gone behind his back and shared his private issues with another team member – but, _God,_ he really wanted to try out that suit.

“Are they already working on something?” He asked eagerly. “I’ll try it. When can I use the suit?”

“ _Whoa,_ hey. Slow your roll.” Tony ran a hand through Peter’s hair, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I just talked to him today. It might take them a couple of weeks.”

A couple of weeks felt like an unbearably long time to wait now that he knew the suit was ready, and that actually _wearing it_ in the near future was a possibility. “Can they speed that up? A couple days, maybe?”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “And you’re going to gain that last five pounds in a couple days, too?”

“Yes,” Peter said with the utmost seriousness. “I can eat a _lot_ of cheesecake in two days.”

“We’re not trading anxiety for diabetes.” Tony rolled his eyes, but Peter could see the mirth in them. “Patience, Spiderling. Do you need me to sit with you for a while?”

“I’m okay now,” Peter said, and it was true. If anything, it would be the excitement buzzing from his toes to his fingertips that kept him awake, not the nightmare that was already fading from his memory. “You need to sleep, too.”

Tony rose, pointing an accusatory finger at him as he moved toward the door. “Vision better not be up to his artificial eyeballs in cheesecake ingredients when I wake up.”

“No promises.”

* * *

Thanks to the high-tech equipment in the Tower’s medical wing – though, personally, Peter thought his excellent pestering and nagging skills had something to do with it – the enhanced sleep aid was ready in a week.

“You sure you don’t want me to stick around for a while?” Tony asked anxiously as Peter downed the pill and settled beneath his covers. “Make sure it’s working alright?”

Peter shook his head. “I’m fine, Mister Stark. It’ll work. You don’t need to stay.”

He grew to regret those words immensely.

* * *

Something dark and treacherous followed him through the streets as he swung. It was nameless, faceless, voiceless, but Peter knew it was there. He could feel it creeping up his back, threatening to dig its claws into his heart-thumping chest.

He had to get away. He had to get away. He had to get away.

 _I’m dreaming,_ his mind supplied, but it was no comfort, because he _couldn’t fucking wake up._

“Mister Stark!” Peter called out into the cold night, praying the sound would somehow make it through to the real world. “Help! Mister Stark, please, I need help!”

No footsteps came running. The city remained unusually dark and empty, the peaceful silence of the night entirely undisturbed.

When the invisible monster finally caught up to him, dropped him onto the cold concrete, and began to tear him to shreds, it looked just like a full syringe.

* * *

Peter woke to daylight creeping through the edges of his curtains.

His head spun and his body trembled. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel tired. Tears burned behind his eyes anyway.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said brightly when Peter finally worked up the nerve to trudge into the kitchen and break the news. “No nightmares last night. You slept for a good ten hours, too. We should get Bruce flowers or something, that green-skinned genius.”

And though the words _it didn’t work_ rested on the tip of his tongue, though he desperately wanted to tell him that the sleeping pill hadn’t stopped his nightmares but had instead kept him trapped silently within them, Peter also saw how well-rested and chipper Tony was. He hated the experience he’d been forced to live through, but he loved that Tony had slept soundly for once. That he hadn’t sacrificed his own health to come running to somebody else’s aid.

Peter bit his tongue and smiled.

“Yeah,” he lied. “It worked great.”

* * *

And he was there again.

It wasn’t real. Peter knew it wasn’t. But that didn’t matter, because it _felt_ real.

The needle punctured his skin; his hungry veins were fed. His brain came alive with indescribable pleasure.

He hated it. God, he _hated_ it.

“Please help me,” Peter cried, curled against a dirty brick wall in the dark of an alleyway, the familiar warmth of euphoria warring with abject horror at his own failure. “Mister Stark, _please._ I don’t – I don’t want this. Please help me.”

Strange, how dreams so often reflected reality. Just like the days when he’d resided in squalor out on the streets, living only to help others and get high, nobody came to his rescue. Nobody heard him. Nobody cared.

He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for daylight.

* * *

Peter came up with his own solution: for three nights straight, he did not sleep at all.

It was difficult, convincing himself that this was for the best even as he yanked himself again and again out of sleep’s clutches, when all he really wanted to do was rest. But it was for the best. The idea of using again, of falling back to that dark and scary and lonely place, terrified him to his core. He would rather never sleep again, rather live the rest of his life perpetually exhausted, than even dream of putting another needle in his veins.

If he dreamt it, if he let himself think too much about the possibility, it might become appealing. Staying awake was objectively better.

And so he did.

* * *

They did end up getting Bruce flowers – yellow carnations – thought Peter suspected Tony mostly meant the gift as a joke.

Bruce smiled, waited until Tony left the room, then turned worried eyes on Peter. “Are you sure the sleep aid is working alright? You look tired.”

Peter smiled, using all the energy left in his body – which was next to none – to make it look convincing. “Yeah! It’s working great.”

Bruce nodded, slow and cautious. “Okay. Well…let me know if it’s not, alright? We can always make adjustments.”

“I will,” Peter said.

But of course, he didn’t.

* * *

Peter tried. He really, truly did.

But he was curled up on the couch in the common room at two in the morning, watching Empire Strikes Back for the second night in a row, and _God,_ he was so tired. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes just this once, just for a little while. An hour, tops. Not long enough to dream.

Peter drifted.

* * *

He woke up screaming.

Usually when he woke, it was with a gasp and an elevated heart rate, and FRIDAY was the one to alert Tony about his distressed state.

This time, Peter was certain FRIDAY didn’t need to say anything. The sound shattered any illusion of peace or silence in the Tower.

“Mister Stark,” he cried before he was really fully aware of being awake. “Mister Stark – please help, _please_ –“

Tony wasn’t the only one who came running, but he was, unsurprisingly, the one who got there first. He wrapped up a trembling, full-blown panicking Peter in his arms and shooed the others back to their suites. Reluctantly, and with a few protests that were rapidly shut down, the Avengers retreated.

Tony remained. Tony was there. Tony was always there. Surrounded by warmth as the man swaddled him tight in the blanket he’d entangled himself in while he slept, rocking him gently back and forth, Peter wondered how he ever could have forgotten that.

Tony was always there. Always, always, _always._

“I c-can’t breathe,” he gasped into Tony’s chest, gripping the back of the man’s shirt for dear life. “Mister Stark, please help me. Please help me.”

“ _Shhh_.” Fingers soothed through his hair. A kiss was pressed against his temple. Peter melted even further into the embrace. “I’m here. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

“It was _real_.”

“It wasn’t real, Pete. It was just a bad dream.”

“It felt real.”

“It wasn’t.” Tony paused. “Do you want to talk about it? Was it the building thing again?”

 _God,_ Peter wished. He wished he could dream of something as simple and obscure as slowly suffocating beneath a fallen building, dream of anything other than using. What a relief it would have been to have a nightmare that didn’t involve cravings and needles and intravenous satisfaction.

“No. Don’t wanna t-talk. Please.”

“Please what, PJs? I don’t know what you need. You’ve gotta help me out here.” Tony sounded so exhausted and desperate, and Peter was flooded with guilt. Guilt for waking everyone. Guilt for dreaming of returning to the waking nightmare of a life Tony had rescued him from.

Guilt that he kind of _wanted_ to return to it, just a little bit.

“Just don’t leave,” Peter said through a sob. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you. You’ve got me, buddy.”

With those arms wrapped like vices around him, as if Tony was daring the world to try and pry him away, it wasn’t all that hard to believe. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tony whispered back as Peter’s breathing began to even out, his sobs turning to hitching breaths and whimpers. “Okay. Why don’t you try and go back to sleep?”

Peter shuddered. “I can’t. Don’t wanna dream again.”

“You won’t, Peter. I’ll sleep right here with you. You won’t have any more nightmares. And if you did, you _know_ I’d wake you up. Alright? You need to sleep.”

Peter didn’t need to sleep. He needed Ben and May. He needed his parents. He needed his old friends. He needed to be at peace for once, without these ghosts haunting him so cruelly and relentlessly. He needed Tony to stay with him, to keep him awake, to ensure the monster would not catch up. He needed, _needed_ –

Heroin. _God._ He needed heroin.

“I’m here, Pete. Go back to sleep.”

Peter did.

**Author's Note:**

> ...please don't kill me.


End file.
